Nightmares
by Clockwork24
Summary: Bakugo was fine, so why ask him if he was alright? Except, maybe, he wasn't. Maybe he wasn't alright because the nightmares wouldn't go away. My small take on Bakugo working through his trauma from Kamino. KiriBaku is implied.


Bakugo knew that he was safe and that he had been safe for weeks. After returning from Kamino physically unscathed with his classmates and watching the downfall of the country's ultimate hero, he brushed off everyone's worry and became annoyed at their fretting over him. He was fine, so why ask him if he was alright?

Except, maybe, he wasn't.

Maybe he wasn't alright because the nightmares wouldn't go away.

Some of those nightmares weren't of Kamino, some were still about the sludge villain from middle school. Those had lingered for months but they were few and far between. But once Kamino occurred, that was all he could see when he closed his eyes.

One nightmare was a fight against the League in the bar. There was no knock at the door for pizza, no Edgeshot or Kamui Woods to interfere with All Might, just the advancing villains ready to take him on 8 to 1. He would fight them off and take them down only for another to step in and round and round it went until his arms throbbed and his vision blurred. The nights that one came, he would wake up in a cold sweat and breathing heavy, the whisper of overuse in his arms on the edge of his nerves, but he was alright. He could shake off the feeling of being cornered and go about his day.

Another one was of his escape from the charred battlefield in the heart of Kamino, his face feeling the heat from the desolation as he looked skyward to see his classmates—Deku, the class rep, and Kirishima. The redhead called to him and he knew what to do, blasting himself into sky and reaching out and trusting, hoping, praying, that he used enough force to connect their hands. But he hadn't, and he felt himself falling backwards down to the villains and All for One and a losing All Might. On those nights, he would wake with a strangled gasp, his stomach still churning with the feeling of plummeting through the air, and it took hours to get his head right.

There was another version of that scenario, too, one where he made it high enough to take Kirishima's hand, a smirk etching itself on his chapped lips as they flew through the air. Everything was as it had been in real life, until he felt the intense, heated pressure around his ankle, the ominous tendrils from All for One wrapping tightly around him and pulling him back down. His hand, sweaty from the fighting and adrenaline and fear, slipped from Kirishima and he would open his mouth in a soundless yell as he was pulled back down. When he woke up from that, his arm would still be outstretched, tears would be pooled at the corners of his eyes, and the look of pure despair on Kirishima's face would echo through his mind. Those ones left him silent, panic buzzing lightly through his nerves as nightfall neared and he would need to sleep again.

One brutal night after they had moved into the dorms, only a few days away from their provisional license exam, he came to know the worst nightmare imaginable.

He had been pulled from Kirishima's grip and once low enough to the ground, brought in front of All for One's imposing figure to act as a barrier between him and All Might. Steam would be escaping the deteriorating hero in front of him, blood flowing freely from his mouth and down his neck.

All for One snaked the black and red appendage up his body to rest around his neck, the choking feeling bringing back panic-induced memories of the sludge villain and the black mass suffocating him to get to where he was and when the scarred Dabi had dragged him through the warpgate at the camp.

"Let me show you," a sickening voice sang in his ear, "the potential of your power."

Bakugo wasn't sure if he actually felt the darkened tendril pierce his chest amidst the panic of his airway being cut off but upon losing control of his body, he felt the pain blooming in his chest and behind his eyes as he watched on, unblinking as an isolated spectator.

He saw his hands being raised in front of him, his palms glistening in the low light and incredible heat.

"Your power," the voice began again, "will aid me in finishing something I should have taken care of a long time ago."

He felt his palms crackling, and he wanted desperately to look away.

"I was considering giving you boosters, but I've seen what you can do, and I think this will be so much better if it is purely through your own strength."

His palms grew hotter and began to emit a brighter spark, and in his mind, he started to scream.

"Forced quirk activation!" the voice boomed, and he felt the explosions burst from his palms straight towards All Might, who's gaunt expression turned grim before the blast engulfed him.

Bakugo woke up with a violent jerk and flailed his arms that he finally had control over again, his limbs entangling in his blankets making his panic shoot up higher at the restriction. He cursed, still partly asleep and unaware of his surroundings, and pitched himself over the side of his bed, landing hard on his hands and knees as he panted into the wooden floorboards. His stomach lurched violently and his back spasmed as he began dry heaving, his fingers scraping against the wood as his hands curled into fists.

He could only hear his heartbeat in his ears for a few tense moments, until he realized that part of the thumping he was hearing was coming from his door.

The words coming through the door were concerned, that much he could tell, but he couldn't make them out. The voice, though, that he knew. It was the same voice who had called out to him against a blackened sky and extended a hand to save him despite knowing he probably wouldn't have done the same.

He raised a hand to search his bedside table blindly, fingers grasping the key to his room that he skittered across the hardwood to slip beneath the door.

The knocking ceased, replaced by a click as the handle turned and light from the hallway flooded his room from behind a tall silhouette.

"Bakugo!"

The door closed and with it went the light which gave him mixed feelings; comfort at Kirishima not being able to see his tears, but uneasiness at the darkness similar to his dream.

"Hey, man, hey," the redhead muttered as he dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering close but afraid to touch.

Bakugo looked up at him beneath sweat-matted bangs, one hand shooting out to grip his classmate's shirtsleeve. The soft material assured him that he was in the waking world as he felt it slowly dampen with the moisture from his palms.

Still breathing hard but with his stomach settling slightly, he unfurled his fist from the fabric and let it drop to the crook of Kirishima's elbow and allowed his fingers to scrabble down to grip his hand tightly. He had to prove to himself that he could keep himself tethered to the world of heroes, to his classmates.

"Bakugo, are you alright?"

He looked up from their clasped hands, red eyes meeting red eyes, and he took the first deep, calming breath of the night. In the moonlight filtering in through his veranda doors, he allowed himself a moment of what the Katsuki Bakugo of six months prior may have considered weakness.

Now, his once-blind eyes opened to the real meaning of heroism and what sacrifices were made to protect him, he acknowledged that he was stronger, perhaps his strongest, as he gathered everything in him to breath one word to the redhead who he considered to be his closest ally.

"No."


End file.
